Losing Grip
by Moonlight Phoenix1
Summary: *SLASH* Set eight years after Hogwarts. What happens when Harry's new flatmate turns out to be someone he hasn't seen since Hogwarts?
1. Prologue

Summary: Set eight years after Hogwarts. What happens when Harry's new flatmate turns out to be someone he hasn't seen since Hogwarts?  
  
A/N: Oooooookey. This fan fic is a little something that I came up with in around half an hour. Don't ask me why. Ask Klypto, my muse (who is sometimes male and sometimes female. Currently, she is a female. Even if she is in her male form, I still refer to her as 'she', so, basically, I guess she's a girl). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, I am sorry to say that I can't update it as often as I'd like, due to the fact that I have many unfinished fics out there that I . . . well . . . that I have to finish. Please enjoy and REVIEW!  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does NOT belong to me. Believe me, if I owned it, I would've made Harry and * muffled name beginning with . . . * get together in the second or third book. But, sadly, I don't. Anyway, that's enough disclaimer for today!  
  
  
  
Losing Grip  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
  
  
Harry James Potter awoke in his muggle house, flat, or whatever you wanted to call it (Harry preferred 'flat') to a beautiful morning. Although (to his annoyance) it was only seven am, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, there was a lovely aroma of something burning . . .  
  
Burning?!?  
  
Harry immediately jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, completely oblivious to the fact that he was only in his boxers and that all the curtains to all the windows in his house (and there were a LOT of windows) were open, giving the neighbours a perfect view of 'that lovely Harry gentleman' running down the stairs as if his house was on fire.  
  
Which, keep in mind, it probably was.  
  
Harry ran into the kitchen.  
  
"Shit!" he groaned - there was smoke rising up from his cooker.  
  
"Right. Gas cooker. I forgot," Harry said to himself as he turned the cooker off. There was still smoke rising up from it. He quickly shut the curtains so that his neighbours wouldn't see what he was about to do.  
  
He grabbed his wand from his boxer pocket and conjured up some water, which he threw onto the cooker.  
  
Seemingly satisfied, he was just about to walk out of the kitchen when his whole cooker went up in flames.  
  
Lucky his ceiling was fireproof.  
  
'Damn. Now I'm gonna have to buy a new cooker,' Harry mused, before extinguishing the fire with his wand, sighing as he observed the piece of, and going back upstairs to get some more sleep.  
  
  
  
A/N: Well, I know that this was quite short, but it's a PROLOGUE. So, in my book, it generally HAS to be short. If you want longer chapters in the future, all you have to do is REVIEW!!!! Hey, that rhymed! 


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Heya! Happy (belated) New Year everybody! Hugs and roses for all your lovely reviews! @)-;-- Well, Harry has been living as a muggle since Hogwarts. He just keeps on forgetting about his cooker because he usually uses his wand for stuff like that, but has a cooker to make him more . . . 'muggle-like' in the neighbours's eyes. Keep reviewing this people! The more reviews I get . . . the sooner I'll TRY to post! : )  
  
  
  
  
  
Losing Grip  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
The alarm clock in Harry's room went off. He cracked an eye open.  
  
Ten o'clock. Good enough. What day was it? Tuesday. He didn't have to go to work. Although he had a nagging suspicion that he was supposed to meet someone at around eleven . . .  
  
And then he remembered. He had to go to the Coffee Republic nearest to his house where he had arranged to meet his new flatmate. They had kept in touch with letters. Another flatmate. Harry sighed.  
  
Yes, he had had his fair share of lodgers in the last two years. Since he owned the house, or flat, as he preferred to call it, his 'roommates' had to pay him rent, which he paid the landlord. So, therefore, Harry had the power to kick them out if he didn't like them.  
  
Although he didn't exactly call it 'kicking them out'. He called it 'politely showing them the door'. Sometimes, his sanity worried Ron, who still remained his best friend after Hogwarts.  
  
Anyway, because of too many lodgers on the waiting list, Harry had taken to changing his name when he put out advertisements to avoid being recognised.  
  
Harry had a reasonably quiet life - and that was how he liked it.  
  
It had not always been quiet, of course. There was that time two years after Hogwarts where some ex-Death Eater who hadn't yet been caught had made an attempt on his life. Harry winced - he had to live with strong wards around his house for two weeks after that. No one apart from him or special-class Aurors could enter the house without alarms going off and twenty Aurors running in. There had been one particular embarrassing time when Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry's boyfriend at the time, entered his house and ran up to greet his lover with a kiss - ten Aurors had run in, and, trying to ignore the interesting shade of red he was turning, Harry was forced to explain to them that Justin was NOT planning to kill him. Just, well . . . kiss him.  
  
Then, of course, there had been that time three years after that when his house had been robbed - Harry had been very upset. The burglars had stolen things that had belonged to the deceased - people who had died during the Final Battle. Remus Lupin's photo album with his own-penned thoughts on the people from his days at Hogwarts had been stolen - one of the few things of Lupin's that Harry owned. He had been killed by Wormtail's silver hand while in his wolf form. Neville's Herbology book that helped him get some of the best marks in the class had been stolen. Hermione's locket had been stolen. It had a picture in it of her and Ron, her boyfriend during Hogwarts.  
  
Harry sighed. He really HAD to stop living in the past. Hermione was gone, and she wasn't coming back. There was nothing he could do about it.  
  
A year after his house had been burgled, Harry had moved to the flat he lived in now. And through the years he had nosey reporters stalking him (though now less than usual), trying to grill him on if he thought that people still wanted him dead, despite the fact that he had defeated Voldemort in his seventh year.  
  
And there had been the time, well, THOSE times, actually, when Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron and people would either beg for his autograph, stare, mutter about him behind their hands, or all at once.  
  
And that blasted muggle cooker having smoke that just decided to float out of it as if it were a cloud around three times a week.  
  
OK, so maybe Harry Potter's life wasn't THAT quiet. But it was alright for a wizarding-world-famous twenty-five year old.  
  
Harry glanced at the clock.  
  
"Dammit!" he snapped at it. He had been lost in his thoughts for almost half an hour. Harry quickly ran into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed quite a big amount of toothpaste onto it, and started brushing his teeth. Unluckily, some of the 'big amount' of toothpaste had slipped down into his throat, practically choking him, causing him to spend the next five minutes trying to spit it in the sink. He ran back into his bedroom, hurriedly pulled on a blue shirt and black trousers when he remembered that he had told, or, more specifically, wrote, his new 'flatmate' that he'd be wearing a green jumper and jeans (so as not to cause any confusion).  
  
Cursing, Harry threw his clothes off and yanked on his jeans and grabbed his green jumper as he ran out of his flat. Then he realised that he had left his keys at home. He ran back towards his house right before the door closed, rushed up the stairs, grabbed his keys (which it took three minutes fifty-five seconds to find), then ran out of his house, remembering (for once) to lock his door.  
  
He jogged all the way to the coffee house, which was luckily only twenty- five minutes away from his house. Ten, if you ran. Really fast.  
  
He often went to the Coffee Republic: coffee house by day, disco bar by night. Harry usually went alone, but sometimes dragged Ron along for the fun of it. But Ron was frequently quite busy, him being the captain/Keeper of his Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, and all.  
  
Harry ran into the coffee shop and looked at the clock.  
  
Great. Just great. He was ten minutes late.  
  
Harry sighed and plopped himself down onto a leather couch with a round coffee table. He hoped that his new flatmate (D. Mall, he had signed it at the end of his letters - Harry supposed that his first name was David, or something like that), would recognize him by his clothes and approach him.  
  
Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of anyone coming over to Harry, apart from the coffee-waitress, who, wearing an incredibly skimpy skirt and revealing top, would flutter her eyelashes at him every time she asked him if he would like some coffee.  
  
Harry started drumming his fingers on the round coffee table, irritated that the lodger was even later than he was. He sighed and looked at the clock (he seemed to be doing that a lot this morning).  
  
11:24  
  
He then attempted to bore a hole through the coffee table by glaring at it, amidst the boredom of having to wait for someone an entire fourteen minutes. Harry's patience had worn very thin in the years after Hogwarts. Now, he couldn't even wait for the microwave (which was actually quite fascinating to use) to heat up his food, without starting to pace around the room.  
  
There was a loud 'Ahem' coughed in front of Harry, startling him out of his thoughts. Harry's eyes moved from the coffee table to the man standing in front of it. He had very fair blonde hair (Harry was sure that it must've been dyed) up in spikes (Harry was sure that at least a whole can of gel must have been used), and a slightly darker-coloured stubble on his chin, which made him look either twenty-eight or twenty-two depending on if you found stubbles attractive or not. Not that Harry had a thing for stubbles - Justin never had a stubble - just . . . he found them quite . . . alluring.  
  
"Harry Paye?" the man drawled casually, inspecting his nails in a sophisticated fashion, not even glancing at his roommate-to-be's face.  
  
"That's me," Harry said, standing up to shake 'D. Mall's' hand.  
  
As soon as he came face to face with the blonde, Harry's eyes widened. The man didn't seem to notice, thought, as he started speaking.  
  
"My name is Draco Mall, but you can call me-" he broke off suddenly, eyes widening a bit as he looked at Harry's face as if suddenly seeing him properly for the first time. Which, he was, considering the fact that he was too busy checking his nails to pay attention to the black-haired man in front of him. Draco Mall's grey eyes seemed to be trying to bore holes through Harry's intense green ones.  
  
"P . . . Potter?" he said, sounding as if he could hardly believe his eyes.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: WELL! I'll bet you all knew that before THEY did. Maybe you didn't. Hmmmm . . . anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which is the longest one I've ever done! Yaaaaaaaaaay! Woooooooooo! Wheeeeeeeee! *cough * Um, sorry about that. I'm just a little hyper is all. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE REVIEW! They really mean a lot to me, and they are what keep me going into the new world! That didn't really make sense, did it? 


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: It's the HOLIDAYS! YESSSSSS!!!!! My Easter hols started last Wednesday! Nah na-na nah naa-na! *sticks tongue out at everyone whose holidays started later than that* Big thanks + hugz for everyone who read and reviewed my story! Plz keep doing that, for it really puts a smile on my face! Here are the thanxes in closer form . . .  
  
Avening Angel: Thanx for reading it and, yaha, of COURSE there's gonna be slash . . .  
  
LvlySenbei: I am v. glad that you are intrigued! *grins* And, once again, of COURSE there's gonna be slash . . .  
  
Tine: Awww, thanx! *blushes from compliments* Well, Draco is going to take a VERY long time in the bathroom . . . he does need to preen to make himself look gorge, ya know! Oh, and I just read one of your stories, 'Know Your Enemy', and I would just like to say that you are a very talented writer!  
  
Aniron Sauron Greenleaf-Took: Yuppy-doo-da, Harry is as gay as they come!  
  
SoulSister: I will keep going - glad you find the story interesting. The next chappie will be up in, say . . . oh, I don't know . . . three or four months, maybe? *shrinks away from everyone who throws tomatoes*  
  
Dark Blood AKA hermionegranger: OK, I will TRY to make the chapters longer. But I can promise you nothing, what with all the stupid homework we get. *sigh*  
  
Fanny chan: You're right. They can sometimes be a bit . . . 'oblivious', as you nicely put it. Well, our ickle Drakkie-Wakkie didn't suspect anything because there's gotta be a million people in the world with the initials HP. In fact, I have a friend called HP. Really, I do. (Dora-the-elda will know who I'm talking about). Her real name is Helena. AND she wears glasses. AND she has a scar. Although it's not lightning shaped, it's just on her eyebrow (I think).  
  
nanono: Yay! Glad you like it! Well, like I said before, I'll probably update this in about three-four months. *ducks and runs away from everyone who starts throwing tomatoes again*  
  
Chibi-Crysti: Yup, good ol' Dray has a stubble! And spiky hair. You know, it might be just me, but I think he'd look very attractive with a stubble. And a pair of leather jeans. They've got to be tight though. And with a tub of chocolate, strawberry whipped cream, a king-sized bed, and, of course not forgetting the pink fluffy handcuffs!!! *cough* Sorry, just got caught up in my own little (perverted) fantasy world there for a minute . . . (Dora-the-elda [more commonly known as Dora] should know what I'm talking about). Anyway, thanx for reading this story, and, well, if you scroll down, you'll see what happens next!  
  
Stacey: Um, no, sorry darling, but you are NOT married to Draco. The reason his surname is Mall is because he had to change it because . . . well. You'll find out in later chapters. Anyway, please keep reviewing my work and MAKE SURE YOUR EMAIL THING DOESN'T STOP WORKING AGAIN!!!!!!!! Actually, too late, it already has. Bummer.  
  
Forgotten Loss: Well, here's another chapter for you!!! Thanx for reading! And plz keep reviewing!  
  
Dora-the-elda: Of course I'll write more you silly sausage! Anyway, I think you're a bit mixed up - I did NOT tell you what's gonna happen next in Losing Grip in Art. Mostly because I don't really know myself! At least, I didn't, until a few weeks ago, when my good ol' muse Klypto gave me some inspiration to write something that vaguely resembles a plot for this story. Oh, also, WHEN THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA POST YOUR STORY UP???  
  
the-ladyship-writers: Glad you love it! And here's the update!  
  
deaths mistress: I'm keeping it up, I'm keeping it up, don't worry! Please don't curse me! *makes adorable puppy eyes*  
  
OK everyone, that's enough of my rambling and freaking out the poor souls who reviewed. Oh, I also would like to tell you to read Dora-the-elda's stuff (when she can be arsed to actually finish it and post it up) cuz it's really good! Anywho, on with the show . . .  
  
I mean story . . .  
  
~~~~~~~~ Losing Grip ~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The two men stood there, practically gaping at each other, neither one of them believing what they were seeing - their high school nemesis.  
  
They were interrupted by the waitress in the skimpy clothing, asking them both if they wanted some coffee, to which they both replied by simply staring at each other.  
  
The waitress gave a little huff of displeasure (you could tell she didn't like being ignored), and went off to serve another table with four men sitting on it (who were leering at her) and looked like they would've even leered at a gigantic pineapple had it walked in wearing a tutu.  
  
Not that such a thing happened daily, of course.  
  
Or ever, for that matter.  
  
"Malfoy, what . . . what are you doing here?" Harry asked, slightly dumbfounded, but the ability to speak coming back.  
  
Draco's eyes darted around quickly (to make sure no one was listening), and swallowed slightly. He shaped his features into the sneer that was his trademark at Hogwarts.  
  
"I think I should be asking you the same thing . . . Potter," he spat the name out as if it were poison. Or it would've sounded like that if Draco wasn't sounding so nervous.  
  
"I live around here. What about you? Why did you even want to share a flat with someone? I thought Malfoys didn't share. Also, why did you even change your name? And, did I mention, why the hell do you want to share a flat with someone? What if I was a muggle? I thought that Malfoys didn't-" Harry started (a speech), but was interrupted by Draco clamping his hand over his mouth.  
  
"Shut up, Potter! What the hell are you trying to do, tell the whole world?" Draco hissed. He took his hand off Harry's mouth, looking at it in disdain. "God, now I'm gonna have to spend a week washing my hand!" he said in disgust.  
  
Harry's eyes widened slightly in anger.  
  
"Hey! I'm not the one who asked you to wipe your bloody hand on my mouth!"  
  
"I was not wiping my hand on your mouth! I was merely getting you to shut up so you wouldn't cause a scene!"  
  
"Cause a scene? Me?!? How the hell would I cause a scene?"  
  
"Well, by the way you're SHOUTING right now, you already HAVE!"  
  
"I am NOT shouting!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"AM NOT!"  
  
"ARE TOO!"  
  
"AM N- oh. Malfoy, um, er . . . everyone's kind of . . . kind of staring at us," Harry said meekly.  
  
Draco turned around and gave the entire coffee shop a death glare. Everyone who was staring at them immediately started chatting animatedly to the closest person (or thing) nearest to them. So, naturally, some of them ended up talking to coat racks (as you do).  
  
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Funny - just two minutes with Malfoy and he was already getting under his skin. Seems like he hadn't changed since Hogwarts. Well, maybe he'd spiked his hair up. And maybe he'd grown a stubble. And maybe he DID look the tiniest bit attractive, but he still was a prat. Wait, attractive? No way, he was NOT attractive. He simply wasn't. Why? He just . . . wasn't, Harry reasoned with himself.  
  
Draco's eyes skimmed Harry's body as quick as lightning. Not bad, he thought. He had grown up since Hogwarts - grown more muscular it seemed. Or as muscular as someone could be under a woolly forest-green jumper. He still was the same Potter though. Running his hand through his hair every time he was agitated. Draco sighed to himself. Trust him to get Potter, Harry POTTER, of ALL people as a roommate. Assuming that Harry actually would agree to let Draco into his house.  
  
"So, um . . ." Draco coughed, not knowing what to say. "Er . . . where do you live, Mr . . . Paye?" he asked.  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"You don't have to call me that. You can still call me Potter, don't worry. I only used the name 'Paye' in case my newest roommate would be someone from Hogwarts - I just didn't want them to try to become my roommate just because I'm Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived," Harry looked a bit sulky as he said this. "Anyway, I live . . . wait," he said.  
  
There was a minute of silence.  
  
"Um, yeah, I'm waiting," Draco said impatiently.  
  
"How do I know that this isn't some weird ex-Death Eater plot to kidnap me, or something?" Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
There was a flash of something in Draco's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He sighed.  
  
"It's not, Potter. Trust me, it's not," Draco said, sounding somewhat tired.  
  
Harry didn't know why, but he felt a pang of sympathy for Draco.  
  
"So, are you gonna let me live with you or not?" Draco asked suddenly.  
  
"Well, um . . . I guess . . ." Harry's voice trailed off.  
  
"'I guess' isn't a good answer." Draco said dryly. "Yes, or no?" he asked.  
  
Harry's mouth was slightly open. He closed it and sighed.  
  
"Sure Malfoy. Why not?" he said.  
  
Draco nodded his head.  
  
"You've made a good decision, Potter," he said. "And don't call me Malfoy," he added.  
  
"Huh? What do you want me to call you, then? 'Draco'?" Harry asked, making a face at the name.  
  
"I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of my name, Wonder Boy. I just want you to call me 'Mall'." Draco stated.  
  
"'Mall'? Why 'Mall'?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.  
  
"Because it is my surname now," Draco simply said.  
  
"What, you married some geezer and adopted his surname?" Harry asked.  
  
Draco gave him a look.  
  
"Geezer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Err . . . geezeress?" Harry offered, blushing slightly.  
  
"Riiiiiight. OK, Potter, I have come to the conclusion that you have gone officially insane since Hogwarts. Are you --sure-- you live in a flat? Not St Mungo's or anything?" Draco asked.  
  
This time, Harry gave him a look.  
  
"No, sorry to disappoint you, Malf-Mall. But I'm afraid that you're gonna have to live --without-- your family," Harry said, mocking sympathy.  
  
"Are you implying that the residents of St Mungo's are my family?" Draco asked. "Well, if you are, therefore implying that --I'm-- the one that's crazy . . . you're probably right. I mean, why else would I accept your offer to live with you?" he said.  
  
"Excuse me? --You're-- the one that answered to the advertisement in the newspaper. Nobody asked you to," Harry said.  
  
"Yeah, but that's before I knew that 'Harry Paye' was actually 'Harry Potter, The Boy Who's A Pain In My Arse'," Draco pointed out.  
  
"Whatever, Malf . . . Mall," Harry said, shrugging. "Let's get out of here. I'll show you the way to my house," he said, walking out of the door of the coffee house.  
  
Draco nodded, picked up the tatty-looking bag he had in his hand (that Harry hadn't noticed he had), and followed Harry out of the door, away from the prying eyes of the waitress in skimpy clothing, who was eyeing the two young men in a somewhat jealous manner. Not that either of them noticed, of course.  
  
Draco followed Harry in silence. Eventually they came up to a rather large and respectable-looking house.  
  
"You live --here--?" was the first thing that came out of Draco's mouth when he saw the house.  
  
"Yes. Why is that so surprising?" Harry asked.  
  
"Hey, no offence, Potter," Draco snorted, "but I thought that you'd be living somewhere nice and quiet in the country, since you kept on complaining about the fame back in school, probably married to a certain red-head, with about a million red-headed children running all around you."  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
"That was the idea," he said, starting to walk up his lawn. "But . . . I guess I just couldn't bring myself to fall in love with her," he said. Well, it was sort of true. He just left out the tiny, and unimportant, fact that he discovered that he was gay in the middle of Seventh Year at Hogwarts, when he was dating Ginny. She had been one of the first people he'd told, and, while she'd supported him, she still had a crush on him, hoping that he'd wake up one day and realise that he was straight and rush over to marry her. The girl was nice, but sometimes, she could be --really-- annoying.  
  
"Ah. I see. Say no more, Potter - the Weasley traits started to annoy you, right?" Draco asked.  
  
"I guess you could say that," Harry replied. "Well. We're here. Outside the door of my muggle home," he said, as though trying to prolong the last moments without Malfoy in his life.  
  
"Uh . . . yeah, Potter. I can see that. I think it might be a good idea to --open the door now--," Draco said slowly, as if talking to a child.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again. He could tell that his new roommate would be the start of a new (and irritating) adventure. And probably attract some long-gone evilness into his house, being all arrogant and everything. Oh well. Harry sighed.  
  
"Let's get this show on the road," he said, and opened the door to his house.  
  
A/N: Woooooooow that was . . . a pathetic chapter. I'm sorry about that. I mean, they didn't even get into the house yet! Well, anyway, if you liked this chapter, and you'd like to find out what happens next, or if you want to give me some constructive criticism, you are welcome to by clicking the little purple button that says 'review'. And if you want to flame me, well . . . I'd rather you didn't. But you can if you really want to. Basically, what I'm trying to say, is: PLEASE REVIEW!!!! 


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